I'm curled up in a ball. My back is numb. Tears slide down my cheeks, hot and constant.

“Mother?”

I hear her voice again—tentative, almost distant. “Mother?”

It’s my daughter. I think.

I don’t look at her. She doesn’t look at me. “Don’t worry. It’s not real,” she says softly.

“No. No, it… it is real. Go look in the garage—the box is there!”

My voice is harsh and I roar like a lion. I’m sobbing, shaking. There are no police. Just her.

“You have to save the girls!” I shout as she walks toward me.

In her open palm is a small white pill.

I stare at it, confused.

“Take this. It has a calming effect,” she demands, her voice firm.

I go against every instinct and swallow. The bitter taste coats my tongue. Slowly, her face becomes clearer. Her touch is warm. Comforting.

“Can you call the police?” I whisper. 

“Mom, it’s okay,” she says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. She pats my back. I feel her breath. I hear her heart. It calms me. It doesn’t beat as fast as mine.

And yet... something inside me tightens. Why does nobody believe me?"

“There is no box,” she says softly, a tear rolls down her cheek. “You’ve had one of your episodes again.”